


Shake, Rattle, and Roll

by strawberrysimon (mayathepsychic)



Category: Love Simon (2018), Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda - Becky Albertalli
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 21:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14270214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayathepsychic/pseuds/strawberrysimon
Summary: Nervous on his first day of work, Simon just hopes that he can end his shift at Waffle House before he embarrasses himself for the millionth time today.





	Shake, Rattle, and Roll

     Simon Spier couldn’t help but feel the urge to quit right on the spot. Although it was only his first day of work at the Waffle House, the amount of times that he had responded with “um” or “let me go ask the manager” when confronted with the simplest of questions about the menu, had him rethinking about why he took on a job in the first place. His training has consisted of how to write an order and use the register, not how to talk to irrationally angry middle-aged women, or when to approach a table. Should he wait forty seconds after the food came out? Forty minutes? Never? Who knows. Nearly calling the last women he served “mom” had him running to - as he put it - “go check on the food”. Of course, he had just placed the food he was supposed to be checking on at their table, but he was sure that if he hid in the kitchen just long enough, then maybe they’d forget all about their awkward server and leave.

 

     It was just his first day, so he had to cut himself some slack. But with two of his fellow waiters having yet to show up, Simon has had to tackle roughly six tables too many to keep everyone happy. Knowing that the sooner he served the customers, the sooner they could leave, and the sooner they left, then _he_ could leave. Once he got home, then maybe the right words could find their way out of his mind and into the inbox of Blue. Blue knew who he was and it made him grateful, nauseated, and a horribly disgusting mixture of the two. Blue could be nearly anybody and at this point, he’s too tired to look anymore, he wishes that he could just fall into Blue’s lap and say, “Hey! Remember that dork you’ve been emailing for months on end? Look no further, because here I am and here you are!” Alas, love can’t always be that simple.

 

     Giving himself a lackluster pep talk out of his daydream, Simon pushed back through the kitchen doors and out into the half-filled diner. A disheveled Lyle bumped pass him on the way out of the kitchen holding four trays, with each looking heavier than the last.

 

     “Hey, can you just grab the shake and take it to twelve? I’ve got, like, four orders to dish out.”

 

     Caught off guard, Simon shakily grabbed the milkshake, “Oh yeah, totally.”

 

     It was nearing May, and the Georgia heat waves were already starting to kick in. The shake had begun to melt over the side of his hand before he really registered that he was carrying it. His instinct, of course, was to lick it off his fingers, but considering that this was Waffle House and not his home, he had to control himself. It was the new Oreo milkshake, and the second he clocked out for the day, he knew he was going to steal one off the order rack… maybe two. It was the kind of thing that he knew Blue would like. After all, it looked like heaven in a cup, with the evil voice in his head taunting him, _C’mon, just have a little_. But he shook his head like an Etch-A-Sketch and erased the thought straight out of his brain. Though he had to admit, the fact that it kept melting all over his fingers was just plain cruel.

 

     Casually bending his head down, Simon looked at the engraved numbers on each of the table’s edges. There was a table ten, a table eleven, yet when he made his way to the end of the row, there was no twelve. Clearly missing it, he swerved on his heel, and once again ducked his head to look for the table before the milkshake had turned into soup. However, not looking where you’re going while holding food and working alongside a sea of other servers, led a clueless Simon Spier into an indirect collision course with Lyle.

 

     “Watch where you’re going Spier!” he responded alarmingly.

 

     Lyle was now drenched in an amalgamation of whatever he was carrying, leaving Simon drenched in the embarrassment of the incident and remains of the Oreo milkshake. Looking to the pool of silverware and food adorning the floor, he closed his eyes briefly in the hopes that when he opened them, that it would all magically disappear. He reached down and began picking up his own mess as Lyle went off to get the mop. The spot wasn’t getting any cleaner, but the longer he looked down, the less he would be able to feel people’s eyes drilling holes into him.

 

     “A shame really,” he heard a voice next to him offer. Looking up, Simon’s gut was in his throat, “a waste of a perfectly good Oreo milkshake.”

 

     It was Bram. Not the Bram from his Dad’s wrestling shows, and not the musician Bram that he read about in third grade. This was cute side-smirk Bram. This was Bram from school. The guy he _kinda_ has a crush on, the guy he _kinda_ hangs out with every now and then, and the guy who _kinda_ just watched him do one of the most embarrassing things in his life. Yes, Simon Spier would like to take his first and last pay stub, please. His mind was blank as he tried to respond, lending himself to only mumble out a, “Sorry, I’ll get you another one, on the house.”

 

     “Be sure to bring two straws,” he replied.

 

     Being entirely on autopilot at this point, it took Simon the entire walk back to the kitchen before he comprehended the remark. _Two straws?_ He must have heard it wrong because Simon isn’t a mathematician, but he knows that _one_ person at a booth doesn’t need _two_ straws. Was it an invitation? Did he have someone else coming? Is his goal in life to confuse as many waiters as possible with this demand? He grabbed both of the straws once the shake was done, though, just in case. Only this time, Simon kept his head up the entire trek, back and head forward facing like a Marine. Trying not to show his trembling hands as he placed the milkshake on the table, he quickly put down the shake and the two straws - the two that kept looking at enviously - and ducked his hands into his apron as fast as humanly possible.

 

     Except he didn’t leave the table. Simon just stood there watching Bram, curious to see what one human could do with two straws. Bram just went right on to unwrapping the straws and placing them in opposite directions, with one facing him and the other facing the empty side of the booth. Almost expectantly, Bram stared at him, loosely gesturing for Simon to… sit? To sit. Bram was gesturing for Simon to sit and he was pretty sure that the gut in his throat was about to come out of his nostrils because _Bram_ was asking _him_ to sit. His brain told him to throw himself into the booth at supersonic speed, but the rational part of his freaked out mind motioned him to cautiously make his way into a seated position. Except once he sat, he had no words, because his gut was definitely trying to force its way out of his face, so he couldn’t say anything, because he’d hate for his gut to come out of his face in front of Bram of all people. So he just kept his mouth hanging open and kept looking between the milkshake and Bram.

 

     As Bram leaned forward, he grabbed the straw and before he put it into his mouth, gave one of his heart-stopping smirks, “Bon Appétit,”

 

     “It’s you?” he asked shyly.

 

     Finishing his sip, Bram replied coolly, “Yeah,” he reached his hand across to meet Simon’s, “It’s me.”

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that Waffle House doesn't have Oreo milkshakes but I didn't come here to be corrected... hope y'all enjoy though! It's my first fic and the first one for the Spierfeld week prompts!


End file.
